


footprints

by Salty_Cro



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Based On A Barenaked Ladies Song, Christmas Eve, M/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21650716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Cro/pseuds/Salty_Cro
Summary: Indrid is forced to spend Christmas Eve without the comfort of his Winnebago, so he follows the footprints that lead him somewhere better.[based loosely on Footprints by Barenaked Ladies]
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 87





	footprints

**Author's Note:**

> howdy folks, you may remember this fic from last christmas! ive decided to rework it as a warmup for when i rewrite hanr, and it's much better and in character now. it still takes place in last december tho bc of how the story is set up.

It’s snowing in Kepler.

It’s fitting, honestly. A picture perfect Christmas Eve, with multicolored lights strung up around the town casting cheerful prisms on the crystalline streets. Most people are inside enjoying time with their friends and family. Children keep peeking through the curtains to watch the snow fall to the ground. The people still making their way home stop to catch a flake on their tongue before going inside.

Indrid had drawn the scene a few days earlier. He had gotten some new colored pencils, really nice ones, and he wanted to test them on something non-life-threatening. Actually, Duck had given him the pencils. He had dropped by Indrid’s camper and nervously handed over the wooden case. Indrid had foreseen the interaction, but he was still trying to understand why. Duck had left soon after, claiming he had some other presents to drop off. Indrid had also foreseen that that wasn’t true, but he let Duck go. He wondered if he should have gotten Duck something.

A few days later and Indrid is walking down the main street, going to ask for more kindness. He’s following a particular set of footprints that are quickly filling in with fresh snow. The imprints turned left at the coffee shop, and then walked along the sidewalk up to an old building. Indrid looks back at his own footprints, and to an untrained eye they could have been walking side-by-side. 

The thing is, the holiday is completely unrelated to Indrid’s current quest. Earlier that day, Indrid’s trailer had developed another leak in the roof. Indrid isn’t exactly eager to stay there, getting icy water dripped on his head every time he lets his guard down. The problem is, he has no other place to go. It’s Christmas Eve, so all the hotels are booked. Everything else is closed. Indrid had considered going to the Cryptonomica, but Billy is already taking up the guest cot there. That leaves two options: Amnesty Lodge, where a Christmas party is still going, or Duck’s apartment. Indrid has more than enough reasons to avoid a holiday party at the lodge, so he goes with the riskier option.

There are a lot of small things that could go wrong in the next few minutes. Nothing life threatening, but certainly a big deal to Indrid. In approximately 45% of Indrid’s possible futures, Duck does not even answer the buzzer. Indrid hesitates, a hand raised to the button. A light turns off in one of the apartments. More doubt fills Indrid’s mind. He should just go to the lodge and wait out the storm. He starts to turn around. 

Suddenly, the lobby door swings open. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Indrid says, his voice betraying his relief.

They look at each other for a moment, neither of them breaking the silence. The snow reflects the streetlight onto their faces. Duck is wearing a green and blue sweater and red pajama pants with white snowflakes. His signature hat is nowhere to be seen, but his hair is pulled back in a low ponytail.

“I saw you out here from the window, you look cold. Come inside,” Duck says. His voice sounds warmer than the air drifting out of the building.

“Really?” Indrid replies.

“Yeah, come on.” Duck holds the door open for Indrid.

Duck leads the way into the building, up a flight of stairs, and into his apartment. Indrid immediately feels the temperature difference. As he walks into the living room, Duck’s cat walks up to him and brushes past his legs. Indrid looks around at the cozy apartment. A couple strings of lights are hung up around the place, accenting the already green decor, and there is a small tree in the corner by the television. Indrid sees a few plastic ornaments had been displaced from the tree, and he knows that Duck was not the one who knocked them down.

“Sorry it’s messy, I wasn’t really expecting anyone tonight,” Duck admits.

“That’s fair. I mean, you’ve seen my place,” Indrid says.

“You can take your coat off, unless it’s too cold without it,” Duck says.

Indrid nods and sheds his puffy black jacket he was wearing and hangs it up on the coat rack. He keeps the other two jackets on, though. His jeans are soaked in snow up to his shins, but there isn’t anything he can do about that. He toes off the boots and walks further into the room.

“D’you want something to eat?” Duck offers.

“I’m fine,” Indrid says. 

Duck nods understandingly, but goes to pull a saucepan off the rack. “So what were you doing outside my apartment building?”

He starts measuring out cocoa and milk. Indrid watches him work for a moment, calming the excitement that comes from nowhere. Then he remembers he’s supposed to participate in the conversation.

“I… don’t really know,” Indrid says, “Well, no, I do know. There’s a leak in the roof of my trailer, so I wanted to get out of there until it’s fixed, but that won’t happen until after Christmas, and the only other place I could go tonight is Amnesty Lodge. And there’s the holiday party going on right now, and I didn’t want to intrude. This was the last option.”

“That sucks,” Duck replies. Indrid nods wordlessly, waiting for the rest of the sentence. “You can stay here for a while, I don’t really have a guest bedroom or anything but if you don’t wanna go to the lodge…”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Indrid repeats. He knows Duck will insist. In fact, he’s kind of counting on it.

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s Christmas Eve, y’know, I’d rather have you here than freezing out in the dark,” Duck says. Then, like he realized the weight of his words, he adds, “Fuckin’ sky shuts down at like, two in the afternoon. Guess that’s better for you at least.” 

Indrid laughs and doesn’t think about Duck wanting him to be here. “You know I’m not actually nocturnal, right?”

“I mean, it just seems like you’re not a huge fan of the sun,” Duck says.

“I’ll take the light-sensitive migraines if it means I can feel my fingers,” Indrid says, followed by a well-timed shiver.

“There’s blankets in the hall closet if you need them,” Duck says.

“I’ll be fine,” Indrid says. He might not be, but he isn’t going to abuse Duck’s hospitality. He just needs a place to stay for the night that isn’t constantly making a dripping noise that drives him insane. Besides, Indrid would warm up eventually. Especially once that cocoa is done.

“Alright, well, make yourself at home. That’s Toaster, by the way. She’s friendly,” Duck says, turning back to the stove. 

Indrid looks down at the cat. Toaster is a fluffy seal-point siamese whose expression radiates mischief. Indrid crouches down and sticks out his hand cautiously. Toaster rubs her face on it. Indrid smiles and pets her cheek.

A comfortable quiet stuffs the room, undercut by the Christmas movie playing on the television. Indrid goes over to sit on the couch. It’s comfortable, more comfortable than Indrid’s own couch by at least 20 years. As Indrid warms up, he curls up against the armrest. Toaster hops up next to him and rubs her face on Indrid’s glasses. Indrid quickly steadies them and laughs slightly.

“Is she bullying you?” Duck asks. Indrid can hear the smile in his voice.

“No, I love her,” Indrid replies. Toaster plops down like a loaf on the armrest and purrs.

“That’s a trick. You think she’s being all cute and then you leave the room for one second and she’s pushed everything on the floor,” Duck says, “I promise I’m not the one who knocked all the ornaments down.”

“I assumed you weren’t going around destroying your apartment,” Indrid grins. Duck laughs. Indrid rests a hand on Toaster’s forehead. “You’re a small criminal, hm?”

Toaster’s purring gets louder. Indrid gives in and scratches behind her ears.

Duck finally walks over with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa. He sets one down on the end table next to Indrid and takes the other one to the other end of the couch. Indrid pulls his legs closer to his body.

“You didn’t go to the Amnesty Lodge party,” Indrid says. It’s more of an observation than a question.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m close enough to all of them to go to a party? I mean, I barely see Aubrey, she’s always up at the lodge, and we haven’t figured out some kinda outside-of-monster-hunting hangout,” Duck shrugs. He starts unfolding a blanket that had been hanging on the back of the couch. “And Ned’s always got a bunch of customers now, and any time he's not at the Cryptonomica he's up at the lodge. Only time we really get together is for the Saturday Night Dead thing.”

“You don’t ever go up to the lodge for fun?” Indrid asks, picking up the mug Duck gave him.

“Not that often? Barclay and I did have weekly brunches for a bit, but that’s fallen off since Mama came back from Sylvain,” Duck says.

“And you didn’t have any plans with Juno?” Indrid asks.

“I mean I celebrated Hanukkah with her and her family, but that was before all the stuff with the tree,” Duck says, “I don’t usually make Christmas plans anyway, so I just stayed home.”

“Lucky for me, I suppose” Indrid says. He takes a sip of the cocoa to avoid talking more. It’s delicious. It would be too hot for a human, but Indrid is fine. He needs the warmth.

“Yeah,” Duck says. 

He stops worrying the edges of the blanket and moves to wrap it around Indrid. Indrid frowns, more out of confusion than anger. 

Duck moves back. “You need it. Trust me, I know when someone’s getting hypothermia.”

“I’m not,” Indrid protests. He isn’t sure if he’s protesting hypothermia or the idea of Duck worrying about him.

“Maybe, but wet clothes usually don’t help,” Duck points out.

“I don’t have other clothes with me,” Indrid counters.

“You can borrow some of mine. I mean, they probably aren’t gonna fit too well, but still,” Duck offers.

“I can tell this is a ‘get your wet jeans off my furniture’ offer,” Indrid says, standing up. Duck sets down his mug.

“I was trying to be nice,” Duck says, “Guess I can’t get anything past you.”

“I’d say this is the nicest way I’ve been pushed off a couch,” Indrid says. Duck laughs.

Duck gets up and goes into his bedroom. He returns a minute later with a maroon sweatshirt and a pair of black sweatpants. “Here, these should fit good enough.”

“Thank you,” Indrid says, standing up and letting the blanket slide off him.

He walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. There is a ceramic duck-shaped soap dish next to the sink, which feels very in-character. But Indrid is on a time limit, he doesn’t have time to marvel at Duck’s humor. Duck would come check on him in two minutes and thirteen seconds; and besides, the wet clothes are really not pleasant. Indrid strips off his cocoon of jackets and shirts until he’s just wearing a tank top, and then tugs off his jeans. He’s freezing. He puts on the new clothes as fast as possible.

The clothes are a little bit baggy, but luckily they’re long enough. They smell like Duck, a mixture of pine needles and coffee. Indrid has to restrain himself from actively smelling the shirt to further identify the scent profile. In the final seconds before Duck knocks, Indrid runs a hand through his hair. It’s a damp lost cause at this point, so he pushes it back into a loose ponytail. Just as Duck is about to knock, Indrid opens the door.

Duck doesn’t seem very surprised by this. He gives Indrid a once-over that lingers a moment too long and says, “Feel better?”

“Yes,” Indrid says, “Thank you.”

“You can just put your clothes in the hamper, I’m probably gonna do laundry tomorrow anyway,” Duck says. Indrid knows it’s pointless to argue, so he just scoops up the pile in his arms and deposits it in said hamper.

“I promise I’ll be out of here soon, as soon as I can get my roof fixed,” Indrid says. He knows Duck will insist it’s fine, but Indrid isn't a mind reader. He doesn’t know if he’s overstaying his welcome. Indrid hopefully won’t have to stay very long, but he’s willing to move to Amnesty Lodge if he’s inconveniencing Duck.

“It’s fine, really,” Duck says, right on time. 

He walks back to the couch, and Indrid follows him. It’s dawning on Indrid that maybe Duck wants him there. As he wraps himself in the blanket Duck gave him, Indrid is pretty sure he wants to be there. It’s warm, and Duck is good company, and the cocoa is delicious, and Indrid likes it here.

It’s a little bit weird, spending time with someone alone on what would be an important holiday. But neither of them are really participating in the traditions, so it might not be weird. Indrid might just be feeling weird because he doesn’t spend a lot of time with people in general. 

“If it’s— you don’t have to say, but why don’t you want to go to the lodge? Besides the party,” Duck asks.

“I… it’s complicated. I haven’t— well, a lot of people there I’ve never met, but I have a… history with others,” Indrid says vaguely, “A rivalry, you could call it.”

“Barclay?” Duck guesses.

“Yeah, it’s not even personal at this point, it’s just tradition,” Indrid admits.

“Y'know, now that I think about it, he’s mentioned a ‘sugar high pretentious asshole’ before,” Duck says.

Indrid laughs, “Honestly, that’s the best title I’ve ever earned.”

Duck laughs too. They both drink from their cocoa mugs. Indrid notices that they’re sitting closer together than before.

“You got any movie preferences?” Duck asks.

“Whatever you feel like,” Indrid says.

Duck picks up the remote and flips the channel to Hallmark. It’s some iteration of the classic ‘heterosexual white people must save Christmas’ format. Indrid isn’t really watching it. He’s more concerned with the goosebumps he can see on Duck’s arms, exposed to the cold once his sleeves were pushed up to make cocoa. Wordlessly, Indrid unfolds part of the blanket and offers it to Duck. 

“I can get my own,” Duck says.

“Do you want to get your own?” Indrid replies, hoping beyond hope that he’s not pushing some kind of boundary. “I don’t bite.”

“Alright.” Duck inches over to Indrid’s side of the couch and takes half of the blanket. 

Duck is warm, and his sweater is soft when it brushes against Indrid’s skin. Indrid wonders how warm he would be if he nestled against Duck’s side. It’s purely hypothetical, of course, but the longer he thinks about it the more appealing it becomes. And the more futures he sees where it happens. Where Duck isn’t bothered by Indrid’s closeness. Interesting.

A warm arm drops behind Indrid’s shoulders, totally cutting off Indrid’s train of thought. Indrid glances at Duck, who seems to be nervously not-looking back. Indrid shuffles towards him and leans into his side. Neither of them speak. To be honest, Indrid isn’t sure he’d be able to. Every point of contact between him and Duck is practically on fire. At least he was warming up.

This is definitely weird, or at least unusual. Indrid hasn’t felt this comfortable in a very long time, and certainly never with a man he met less than two weeks ago. He wonders if that long stretch of time has made him more or less affected by basic intimacy. And while the signs are pointing very clearly to “more,” Indrid thinks there might be more to it.

Indrid likes Duck. He’s not in love with him, not yet at least. It was just interesting that out of all the people Indrid has met in Kepler, he sought out Duck first and foremost. And Duck saved his life, albeit in a less heroic manner than both of them would have liked. Duck was trustworthy, and kind, and smart, and  _ warm _ . Indrid could hardly be blamed for liking him.

About three quarters of the movie passes before Indrid decides to break the silence. “Duck?”

“Hm?” Duck replies. He starts to slowly retract his arm.

“I think I’m still cold,” Indrid says. Duck’s arm stops moving.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Can I…” Duck says softly, scooting closer. 

He puts his arm all the way around Indrid, letting his hand rest on Indrid’s shoulder. Indrid lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Duck gently pulls Indrid closer. Indrid has to resist the urge to bury his face in Duck’s neck, because he’s a rational person, and even if he isn’t the best with social cues he knows that’s not appropriate. Apparently Indrid is beyond touch-starved; he’s a touch-skeleton, abandoned years ago at the bottom of the Ohio River. 

Duck seems like he needs this too: his breathing is evening out, and he’s less tense. That’s good, because Indrid doesn’t want to seem needy. He still has a reputation to uphold. At least, that’s what he thinks to himself, before Duck’s other hand finds Indrid’s waist and nearly pulls him into his lap. Indrid makes a chittering sound and immediately regrets it.

“Too much?” Duck asks apologetically.

“No,” Indrid replies quickly, “No, I’m— it’s okay.”

But the moment is broken. There’s no plausible deniability now. Indrid sighs, purely for emotional effect, and leans his head on Duck’s shoulder.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Duck asks.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Indrid says softly, “Not in a bad way.”

“Guess I should probably be used to weird things by now,” Duck says.

“Why would that possibly be? Was it the fire magician or the talking sword?” Indrid grins.

Duck laughs. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m watching Christmas movies with the Mothman sitting on my lap and he’s hogging the whole blanket.”

“I wouldn’t be taking the whole blanket if you weren’t so intent on not using it.” Indrid takes a corner of the blanket in hand and wraps it around Duck’s uncovered shoulder. He doesn’t take his hand back.

They sit like that for some amount of time. Toaster jumps up to sit on the coffee table. Her face looks somehow more mischievous than before, and Indrid gets the sudden vision of several ornaments on the floor. He could stop it, but that would mean leaving Duck’s warmth, and Indrid isn’t sure he could come back to it. 

“Y’know I… I was worried you weren’t gonna come back.”

Indrid is a little alarmed by the tone shift, but the concern is valid. “Really?”

Duck sighs. “I mean, you had every right to leave, especially after, y’know, me punching you in the face and all, but I— I dunno, I feel like, uh, I mean— I was kinda hoping you would stay in Kepler, at least for a bit. ‘Cause I— I wanted to— well I wanted to apologize for punching you in the face, still feel like a— a buffoon for that one. And I was kinda hoping that you might stick around, ‘cause I think you’re cool and I’m glad I got to know you more.”

Indrid is silent. He wants to say something, say anything, but he’s reeling from the idea— or fact, rather, that someone actually wants him around. “I… I’m glad I came back.”

A light snore echoes in Duck’s chest. 

Indrid laughs quietly. “Duck?” No response. “Duck.”

“Hm?” Duck responds. He’s still mostly asleep.

“You should go to sleep,” Indrid nudges Duck’s side.

“You’re still awake though,” Duck mumbles.

“Mm, not for long,” Indrid says. Duck hums in acknowledgement. “Duck.”

“Bed. Right. Come on—” Duck suddenly moves his hands until he’s scooping Indrid off the couch and standing up.

“Now hold on, I don’t remember this part of the plan,” Indrid says, not fighting it whatsoever.

“Improv,” mutters Duck incomprehensibly.

“I don’t think that means any— oh.” Indrid lands on Duck’s bed. “Are you sure this is where you meant to put me?”

“Do you not want to be here?” Duck asks. He’s leaning over Indrid far too tenderly.

Indrid can’t handle the eye contact anymore. “Well— I just don’t want to—” 

“Intrude, I know, but you’re not, I promise.”

“…Okay.” Indrid pulls up the covers and settles under them, sticking to the far edge of the bed.

Duck gets into the bed too. Indrid can feel his warmth seeping into the covers, and he wants to move closer, but he’s pretty sure he ruined it. Then Duck reaches over and takes Indrid’s hand. Indrid is overwhelmed by the gesture; it’s somehow more intimate than the casual couch cuddling, and Indrid can feel Duck’s pulse pounding.

“You’re very nice to me,” Indrid says. He didn’t really mean to say that out loud.

“‘S cause I like you,” Duck replies, mostly asleep.

Indrid smiles despite himself, and moves closer to Duck. “That’s good.”

~☀~

Waking up is terrifying.

Indrid feels like he’s being restrained, and he’s somewhere he doesn’t recognize. His face is pressed into a pillow, but he can see sunlight at the edges of his vision. A warm weight is holding him down, so Indrid thrashes senselessly against whatever it is. Then he remembers where he is.

The warmth against his back is Duck. This is Duck’s bed, in his apartment that Indrid came to last night. Last night, which was Christmas Eve, making today Christmas. Indrid is in Duck’s bed with Duck on Christmas morning. That tracks, sort of.

Duck had moved his arm when Indrid started fighting him. He’s not lightly snoring anymore, and Indrid hears him shifting as he wakes up. Guilt pushes its way to the front of Indrid’s mind. He didn’t mean to disturb Duck. He tries holding extremely still, but it diesn’t work.

“You okay?” Duck murmurs. His voice is thick with sleep and Indrid can feel his chest rumbling.

“Yes, sorry,” Indrid says.

“What happened?” Duck asks.

“Nothing,” Indrid says, “Just got lost for a second.”

Duck hums in tired acknowledgement. Indrid rolls over to face him. Duck’s arm is still around him, and Indrid hopes it will stay that way.

“What time is it?” Duck asks.

Indrid looks behind Duck at the digital clock. 9:47.

“Morning,” Indrid answers.

“What kind of morning?” Duck tries again, pulling Indrid closer.

“9:47:23, December 25, 2018. Is that better?” Indrid says dryly. His tone is muffled by Duck’s chest.

Duck laughs a little. “It’s Christmas.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything,” Indrid replies.

“You’re here,” Duck says simply. 

Indrid smiles. The low warmth in his chest spreads to the rest of his body. In a moment of confidence in this new happiness, Indrid pulls Duck closer. He feels more than hears the affirmative grunt that escapes Duck. 

Two possible timelines present themselves in Indrid’s mind.

One timeline suggests that Indrid would leave that afternoon. He and Duck would spend the morning together watching more dumb movies or maybe playing video games. Then Indrid would get in his head about staying there and leave. Duck wouldn’t stop him, but he wouldn’t be very happy to let Indrid go.

The other possibility looks much more exciting. Indrid and Duck would stay in bed for another hour or so, and then Indrid would help Duck make breakfast. Duck would press an absentminded kiss to Indrid’s cheek, and then realize what he did, and Indrid would kiss him fully. As Indrid pictures it, the other timeline fades out. More timelines take its place, but Indrid can’t bring himself to care.

It dawns on Indrid that he doesn’t have to wait for that timeline to kiss Duck. In fact, he could do it right now. Now that he’s been given the possibility, he really wants to.

“Duck?”

“Hm?” Duck looks up. His eyes are glittering in the morning sunlight. 

Indrid kisses him. Duck makes a surprised sound, but he returns the kiss. His hands settle on Indrid’s back, and Indrid holds Duck’s shoulder and neck. After a while of that, Indrid pulls back lazily.

“I like you too,” Indrid says.

“Wha— oh, did I say something last night?” Duck’s face is red.

“Yeah,” Indrid says.

“Huh. Well, Christmas is going well so far,” Duck says. Indrid laughs and kisses him again.


End file.
